


The start of something good

by Mellaithwen



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Meet-Cute, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 14:00:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3612636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mellaithwen/pseuds/Mellaithwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU - Bucky meets Steve for the first time when Steve accidentally spills his drink on him at an NFL game, and things go downhill from there. Meanwhile Sam thinks he's the ultimate wingman, even if he is a bit drunk.</p><p>
  <i>“Holy shit, Steve.” Sam whistles under his breath. “I think you broke his nose!”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The start of something good

 

To say that the man standing in line at the stadium bar is distractingly handsome is a gross understatement. Tall, blonde, and broad shouldered—the grey heather t-shirt he’s wearing is _tight_. It was either purchased before a fair amount of muscle mass was acquired, or it’s intentional, and the guy likes to show off his impressive physique. 

 

Bucky’s not sure which scenario he prefers, but he ducks his head to stop staring, because creepy-ogler is not the kind of first impression he’s eager to make.

 

“Blondie” as he will now be referred to, turns to survey the line behind him—and catches Bucky’s eye. It’s for no more than a second, but Bucky thinks _shit, I’m in trouble,_ because even though there are about four people standing between them in the queue, he can see quite clearly how blue the guy’s eyes are. Like goddamn oceans.

 

The guy smiles and Bucky smiles back. He’s stupidly relieved to see that the man’s shirt has _New York Giants_ emblazoned on the front, and not the opposing team. Bucky’s a nice guy, and while he wouldn’t want sport to come between something— _hell, anything_ —he could get with this guy, they’re playing the Philadelphia Eagles today, and you don’t mess with eighty-year-old rivalries.

 

Not even for, what Bucky’s sure would be, incredibly good sex. 

 

Bucky buys his drink before managing to find Blondie again in the crowd. 

 

He takes a deep breath, looking down at himself to make sure he passes for _decent_ , before looking back up at the man—whose smile is wide and inviting—and thinks, _what’s the worst that can happen?_

 

.

 

“Oh shit!” Blondie exclaims when he realises that the contents of both their drinks are now no longer in their cups and instead drenching the front of Bucky’s football jersey. 

 

Bucky groans. The beer is cold, and sticky and wet and his jersey is sodden. He tries to pull the material away from his skin to ease the discomfort but it does no good, and Blondie is now fumbling at the bar with napkins, and patting him down. Bucky works hard to keep the blush in his cheeks from going supernova, but he’s pretty sure he’s failing miserably. 

 

“Oh man,” the guy is muttering, “shit, shit, shit, I’m really sorry, I didn’t see you.”

 

The napkins really aren’t helping, and when the guy’s ministrations get a little too close to his crotch, Bucky jerks backwards.

 

“Oh jeez,” the guy says, realising himself what he’d been close to doing. “I’m _sorry_ , I—”

 

“It’s okay, _really,_ I just, uh, I, uh, just need to go.”

 

_Smooth_ , Bucky thinks, darting for the men’s room in double time. _Real fucking smooth_. 

.

  

Bucky spends so long in the bathroom trying to dry his crotch that he almost misses the start of the game. He has one leg balancing on the sink, and he’s thrusting his hips under the dryer. He gets about a hundred dirty looks for doing so, and, to his dismay, three phone-numbers. He wants to tell them all that this is _so_ not a regular occurrence, but he’s too busy dying a little inside.

 

For the first time since Nat had cancelled on him this morning, he’s glad to be on his own.

 

_You’re lucky I even got clearance to tell you._

 

Her last text message had read after Bucky had moaned about being stood up _again_ for the sake of her impressive and stupidly secretive work ethic.

 

He sighs with embarrassment when he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Bedraggled doesn’t quite cover it, but at least he doesn’t look like he’s pissed himself anymore. He thinks it’s lucky that he decided to wear a black t-shirt underneath his jersey, even if it means his beloved Giants jersey is a soaking wet ball in his hands.

 

He grabs the crumpled ticket from his back pocket and goes off in search of his seat.

 

And then he sees him.

 

_Blondie_.

 

“Oh my god, it’s him.” Blondie says to his friend, obviously unaware of how good a lip-reader Bucky can be. 

 

Bucky assumes that by ‘ _him_ ’ Blondie means, _that guy I drenched in beer_ , and not something else more complimentary, which is a crying shame. Bucky looks at his ticket, then looks carefully at the row of filled seats, before realising that the only empty one that corresponds to his ticket is the one on Blondie’s left.

 

Nat’s seat has already been filled by the girl Bucky had sold his ticket to outside. He had barely had his hand in the air for a second before she’d come running up to him with cash at the ready. While she seemed friendly enough, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to get her to switch seats without making it obviously awkward to all involved.

 

Bucky decides to go for something nonchalant, and nods in greeting when he gets to his seat. The girl nods back and Blondie? He looks ready to apologise for the hundredth time but his friend nudges him instead, and any awkward silence that might have followed is drowned out by loud music and the arrival of cheerleaders on the field. 

 

Bucky makes sure to take up as little room as possible, stares straight ahead, and tries not to mourn for what could have been. 

 

.

 

At half time he’s handed a hot-dog and a handshake.

 

“I’m Sam, this is Steve.” Says the man with the firm grip, as he leans over Blondie—or rather Steve as he’s now known. 

 

“Bucky,” he says introducing himself and trying to give the food back. “And you didn’t have to—”

 

Sam puts his hand up and Bucky stops. “First rule of not being an asshole is apologising with a hot-dog at a ball game.”

 

“Shouldn’t the asshole have gone to get the hot-dogs then?” Steve asks pointedly, referring to himself.

 

“You’re not an asshole, it was an accident.” Bucky defends quickly, and looks away when Blon— _Steve—_ gives him a surprised look.

 

.

 

“Do you live around here?” Steve asks, casually, still watching the game but clearly his question is meant for Bucky.

 

“Brooklyn.” Bucky says, and Steve’s response is drowned out by Sam saying _“You don’t say!”_ a little too loudly. 

 

“Sorry, he’s a bit drunk.”

 

“We would be too if I wasn’t wearing our drinks.” Bucky jokes, and thinks _maybe this isn’t such a lost cause after all,_ when Steve’s eyes seem to light up in amusement while his cheeks go a little red.

 

And things aren’t going so bad, until one of the player’s on the field is down. It’s a clear foul, but the referee isn’t so sure, and Steve, along with half the stadium, is on his feet, angry as hell and yelling loudly. 

 

Steve jumps out of his seat, and his arms are held aloft as he yells in favour of the home team. The stadium is full of boos and jeers and Steve doesn’t even notice that he’s accidentally elbowed Bucky in the face until Sam’s pointing at the sheer amount of blood pouring out of Bucky’s hands as he tries to cradle his injured nose. 

 

“Fuck.” Bucky curses, his voice laced with pain. 

 

Steve gapes for all of a second before he sees Bucky start to sway and he reaches out quickly to keep the man upright. Bucky still stumbles forward though, and even though his head’s spinning, he can still feel Steve’s heart beating against his chest, where he’s letting Bucky’s head lie, even if means his grey shirt is getting stained red. Steve’s hands are warm as they hold him upright, and gently try to inspect the damage to his face.

 

There’s a chance Bucky might have mumbled something to that effect out loud because Steve’s nervous laughter jostles them both.

 

In his peripheral vision, Bucky can just make out Sam nodding gratefully to the people around them who are passing napkins, handkerchiefs and tissues to help with the clean up, and passing them over to Steve who presses them gently against Bucky’s face. Now that Steve has pulled back far enough for Sam to get a look at Bucky’s face, he doesn’t hold back.

 

“Holy shit, Steve.” Sam whistles under his breath. “I think you broke his nose!”

 

A steward comes forward and gestures for them to make their way out of the aisle so he can lead them to the nearest First Aid room, and Bucky tries to keep his moaning to a minimum, while Steve is a strong presence to his right, and Sam follows diligently behind. Bucky’s face feels hot and he can’t tell if it’s down to all the blood rushing to his face and out through his nostrils, or sheer embarrassment. 

 

Either way, everything sucks.

 

Steve squeezes his hand, and it’s more comforting than either of them could have expected.

 

Okay, Bucky thinks, maybe not _everything._

 

.

 

The bruising is impressive to say the least. Spread out from the cut on the bridge of his nose and underneath both eyes, the dark purple blotches look more than a little painful. The blood is still streaming from both nostrils, and the wad of tissues in his hands are soaked through. His skin is pale and his eyes are sharp with pain. 

 

“Shit man, I’m sorry, I really got you good, huh.” Steve says, hovering in the doorway, wringing his hands with what looks like, Bucky’s beer-covered jersey. The healthcare professional in the medical tent hands him an ice pack and it’s both horrible and heavenly when she rests it on his face, and instructs him to hold it in place. 

 

She suggests a trip to the ER to be on the safe side, and the words are barely out of her mouth before Steve’s offering to drive, like a man in search of penance.

 

. 

 

Bucky sends Natasha a quick text to explain— _don’t panic, broke my nose, everything’s fine_ —because even though she’s currently in the air right now, somewhere between New York and Europe, she has an uncanny ability to know when something’s wrong. An uncanny ability that’s shaped like a Doctor called Bruce who always seems to be working in the ER when Bucky’s trying to keep a low profile and in need of medical assistance. 

 

His phone buzzes.

 

_Who do I need to kill?_

 

Bucky hides his phone before Steve can see the aggressive response he really should have expected.

 

_No one. It was an accident, and he’s been nothing but a gentleman since._

 

_You’re an idiot._ She says, before another text comes in a second later. _Feel better._

 

It’s the textual equivalent of a hug where Natasha’s concerned, and he’d smile if his face wasn’t still throbbing.

 

“This is crazy, there’s gotta be someone who can take a look at you.” Steve says, sitting next to him in the ER’s waiting area; his knee bouncing up and down against the clipboard they’re using to fill out Bucky’s paperwork. “We’ve been here nearly an hour.”

 

“Feels like longer.” Sam says, in between sending drunk texts and trying to find out the final score of the game they’re missing.

 

“You don’t have to stay.” Bucky tells them, trying to annunciate as best he can around the swelling. There’s a chance his words are a little slurred, but considering how out-of-it he feels, he thinks he does a pretty good job.

 

“That’s not what I—” Steve starts to say, when he sees a nurse head back to the desk. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

 

Bucky doesn’t answer, but he feels the urge to smile again when he hears Steve pleading his case at the admissions desk. 

 

“…please, he’s in a lot of pain. It’s James Barnes. B-A-R—”

 

“I can spell.”

 

“He’s really good at the whole _Knight in Shining Armour_ routine, huh.” Bucky says, tuning Steve out for a second and nudging Sam.

 

“Oh man, you have no idea.” Sam agrees, before putting his phone down and turning to face James, with a serious look on his face. Or as close to serious as one can get when they have yet to sober up. “You should tap that.” He whispers, though not as quietly as Bucky would have liked. 

 

Turns out blushing violently hurts like hell when your nose is broken and you have two black eyes as a result. He’s saved from any attempt at a response when he hears an extra voice talking to Steve.

 

“Excuse me,” the voice says politely. “Did you say James Barnes?”

 

Bucky tries to sit up when he sees a white-coat heading in his direction but slumps back in his chair when he sees that it’s Natasha’s friend Bruce. Typical. Every damn time…

 

“I knew it, I _knew_ you’d be here.” He mumbles, as Bruce takes the seat Steve had vacated, and gently tilts Bucky’s head so he’s facing him before probing the injury with a deft hand. He hums before shining a penlight in both of Bucky’s eyes. 

 

“You’re lucky, I just finished my shift when I overheard your friend.” Bruce tells him, and Bucky almost doesn’t hear him over the buzzing in his ears. He doesn’t realise his eyes are closed until Bruce is telling him to open them. He’s using _that_ voice, the one he reserves for children, and the elderly, so that’s just great.

 

“You with me?” He asks, when Bucky squints up at him, and gives the smallest of nods. “Okay, good, I’ll get you set up in a bed in just a second, sound good?”

 

“…think I’m gonna puke…” Is Bucky’s only response before he leans over and throws up on the ground. Bruce manages to step back in time—years of working in the ER having trained him for such moments. Steve, or more importantly, Steve’s _shoes,_ are not so lucky. 

 

Sam laughs, before hiccuping, and slumping down lower into his chair.

 

.

 

Bruce is, actually, a very good doctor. He’s kind and attentive, and very good at distracting Bucky from the pain while they wait for the actual pain killers to kick in. 

 

He will not, however, tell him how he and Nat met, or confirm for definite what her job actually entails.

 

“What makes you think she’s anything more than a paper-pusher?” Bruce asks, as he re-sets Bucky’s nose. He’s lucky to not need surgery, or any further intervention. The pain though, even with medication, still has Bucky double over and Bruce’s hand is warm and comforting on the centre of his back.

 

“Because I’ve actually met her?” Bucky manages to reply, with a wince.

 

“Good point.” Bruce agrees. “You’re all _set_ ,” he says with a smirk, “we just need to put a splint on as a precaution, and then you can you be on your way. You want me to grab your friend while you wait?”

 

Friend? Bucky didn’t call anyone, did he? He’s about to question Bruce’s diagnosis of him not being concussed when he remembers Steve, and by extension, Sam.

 

“They’re still here?”

 

“Yup. The blonde looks pretty worried too, but he’s not pacing. Yet. I think the other guy’s asleep though.”  

 

Bucky frowns—and then winces at the ache pushing through the mildly drugged haze.

 

“So should I send him back?” 

 

.

 

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Steve asks as he pulls back the privacy curtain, almost wincing as though it was him with the broken nose and not the other way around. Bucky’s impressed at how adept Steve is at making his large body seem small and sheepish.

 

“Been better.” Bucky replies, the word ‘better’ sounding more like _‘bedda’_ with his nose now strapped. “You didn’t have to stay.” He says then. He hadn’t expected Steve to take him to the hospital, let alone wait there for him. 

 

“I figured it was the least I could do.”

 

“I don’t hold grudges man, it was an accident, don’t sweat it.”

 

“I know, I just..kinda wish I’d made a better impression.”

 

Bucky isn’t sure what to make of that statement but Steve doesn’t give him a chance to formulate an answer. 

 

“You need a ride home?” He asks.

 

Bucky briefly considers getting on public transport before shuddering at the thought of being jostled on the train back into the city, or worse yet, having someone knock into him by accident. He’s had enough accidents for one day.

 

“Please.”

 

Bucky’s not sure if it’s just his luck that Steve’s not the kind of guy to be easily put off, or if all of this is just misplaced guilt. But hey, it’s something, and maybe it’ll make a great anecdote some day.

 

.

 

Sam is sprawled in the back seat, despite Steve having made sure he was buckled in before they set off. Whenever they hit a red light, he reaches back to try and push Sam into sitting upright, but the second they set off again, Sam’s body folds back over.

 

Bucky laughs carefully, not wanting to test the strength of his pain meds anymore than he has to. He looks over at Steve, and he can see by the light of each streetlamp they pass, that the man’s miming the lyrics to almost every song. Even the cheesy-pop songs. And maybe it’s the calm that comes with hospital-grade painkillers, or maybe it’s the hypnotic effect of headlights on dark roads—maybe it’s even Sam’s snoring in the back seat, but Bucky feels the need to confess something. 

 

“Can I tell you something?” He asks Steve, over the sound of the tinny radio. Steve’s fingers stop tapping against the steering wheel almost immediately.

 

“Sure.” He replies.

 

“Before, at the bar, I was coming over to ask you out.”

 

“You were?” Steve sounds very surprised, and Bucky wonders what happened to give Steve such a low opinion of himself.

 

“Yeah, _definitely_ , but then I was covered in beer and you were already so flustered—”

 

“—And then I broke your nose.” Steve finishes in the same tone, his cheeks red from blushing. Bucky barks out a laugh and then quickly regrets it when it jolts the inside of his nasal cavity.

 

“Ow, don’t make me laugh.” Bucky says, moaning slightly, before looking up and realising they’ve already made it to his block. “I’m just up here.” He says, pointing to his apartment building and Steve pulls over. 

 

Steve sits back in his seat, and his fingers are tapping nervously against his thighs now instead of the wheel. But more importantly, Bucky thinks sadly, he’s not saying anything.

 

“Thanks for the ride.” Bucky says finally, waving a little awkwardly as he gets out and makes for the steps of his building. He tries to ignore the feeling of disappointment as he gets closer to his door, but then he hears the sound of a car door opening and Steve’s voice shouting up to him.

 

“Wait! Wait, just—” Steve jogs up the steps to join Bucky. “Wait.” He finishes breathlessly, and stops only when they’re stood face to face on Bucky’s stoop.

 

“Steve?” Bucky asks, concerned. He doesn’t want to stare, but they’re standing incredibly close to one another and really, Bucky doesn’t have much of a choice. So he waits, patiently, as Steve breathes evenly and worries his front teeth against his bottom lip.

 

“I was, at the bar, I—Iwasgonnaaskyououttoo.” He finally says, all at once, as though he’d been in two minds whether or not to say anything at all and had decided that blurting it out was in his best interest.

 

“I’m sorry, was that in English?” Bucky jokes, but there’s a warm feeling spreading out from his chest and he makes sure to meet Steve’s eyes dead-on.

 

“I was gonna ask you out too.” Steve says, managing to annunciate a little better the second time. “I saw you waiting in line at the bar, and, Sam likes to think he’s this amazing wingman, and then you were there, and I’d covered you in _beer_ and you kinda, bolted.”

 

“Well I was kinda soaked.”

 

“Yeah.” Steve agrees. “Still cute though.”

 

Bucky holds his breath, and thinks, _if he doesn’t do it, I will._

 

“So, uh,” Steve starts, taking the initiative. “You wanna grab a drink some time?”

 

“That depends. You promise not to spill it on me this time?” Bucky asks wryly, enjoying the way Steve ducks his head and how the pink blush spreads out across his cheeks, making his freckles stand out. 

 

“I promise, so is that a yes?” 

 

In the distance, even before Bucky’s had a chance to reply, Sam has started cheering and waving his hands in the air as he hangs out of the the back window of Steve’s car.

 

“Best wingman ever!” He shouts, as though the day’s disasters had been down to him and not chance, or fate, or something else entirely.

 

“I’ll leave him at home next time, too.” Steve promises, laughing in the lamplight. 

 

Bucky looks over at Sam as he slips his torso back inside of the car, and then at Steve who’s looking so hopeful, and still so hot. He thinks back to a few hours ago, before the broken nose and the beer spillage and the pretty ridiculous day. He remembers staring at Steve, and thinking, _what’s the worst that can happen?_

 

“Bucky?”

 

“Yes.” He blurts out, smiling despite the throbbing of his nose, and the beer stained state of his shirt and jeans. “It’s a yes.”

 

 

-Fin

 

**Author's Note:**

>  _.....and they all lived happily ever after_.....
> 
> please let me know what you thought in the comments :) oh and the title is from Daughtry.
> 
> and feel free to say hello on [tumblr](http://amysgster.tumblr.com/)


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